


The Old Seamstress

by imperiality (orphan_account)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Curses, F/M, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fairy Tale Style, If you have any questions about anything ple a s e ask, Magic, Other, evil witch seamstress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2017-07-25
Packaged: 2018-12-06 14:43:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11602761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/imperiality
Summary: Beauty is a blessing and a curse





	The Old Seamstress

In a forgotten forest, just outside the edge of the village, lived an old seamstress. She was skilled in her craft, and took every request regardless of pay.

The seamstress was so old in fact that all of her hairs had grown white, even her eyebrows. Her skin had sunken in close to her bones, dotted with sunspots on her arms and hands. Her nails were long and brittle. Her eyes were cloudy and black. (She was near blindness, but still had enough vision to see her needles). The old lady was hunched over, and shuffled slowly when she moved.

Her single companion was her helper-swan with black, inky feathers. He often held scissors or spools in his beak for her. Long ago, the seamstress had come across a witch that told her of a spell enabling the bird with the gift of speech. So the seamstress went home, plucked a feather from the bird’s wing, and gave it to the witch. The old witch told the (then young) seamstress what do with the potion. She fed the bird the purple, shimmering potion, and within seconds, the bird’s squawking turned into conversing. The witch asked for nothing in return, not even a handful of bronze coins, which the seamstress found odd. What the seamstress finds odder _still_ is her own adoption of the witch’s mode of operation.

Now every village surrounding the kingdom (and those of neighboring kingdoms, too) came to see this seamstress for tailoring, altering, cobbling, and special-requested clothes.  The seamstress’s name was Deloris. Most people simply called her “ma’am” or titles of the like. Elusiveness was something for which she had rather hoped.

Through all this time, she and the witch had retained a friendly, yet professional relationship, and went to each other whenever they had a request. Favors were constantly being given and repaid, but along with that, gossip was always eager to be shared.

 

Today, as Deloris cut the thread of the hem on a sleeve she was finishing, a knock came at the door. It wasn’t the familiar knock of her friend the witch. It wasn’t her companion’s beak that rapped the door. _Perhaps another request she thought_. She approached the door, and patiently listened to another set of knocks. She opened the door slowly. Upon opening, revealed a golden-tinted young lady. Her hair shone like strands of sunshine, skin radiating with a warm tint in similar likeness. Her eyes were a luminescent green, immortally enchanting. Her small mouth and pert nose was accented by a soft jawline. The seamstress knew immediately who had graced her presence.

“Please, do come in, your highness.” The young princess entered the seamstress’s little shack and sat down on the nearest stool. _What splendid posture_ the seamstress mused. “Dear seamstress,” the Princess began in a polite tone. “I have a favor to ask of you.” 

“Whatever can I do you for, your highness?”  The young lady smoothed her hands in her lap. “Please allow me to give a brief history.” At this point, the black swan had been pecking at the princess’s skirt-hem, but she had to brush him aside. “Claude, come.” the seamstress said to the bird. The swan waddled away from the Princess, and nestled close to the old woman. “Do tell, your highness.” The Princess nodded. 

“My name is Princess Rosamond, daughter of King Steven III, of the kingdom of Pompweii, betrothed to Prince Frans, son of King Hans V of the kingdom of Uouu. I tell you all this ma’am, because in three weeks time, my kingdom is holding a ball in their honor to formally greet them. However, since my marriage to the Prince is completely out of business, it would be no good if I fell in love with him. 

“However, being the foolish girl I am, I did fall in love with him, or at least… I think very fondly of him. So, I desire to look my finest for the ball. Now, we’ve seen each other at different balls before this one, but you see, this is the last ball we will be able to see each other before the wedding. I want to look the best to this occasion more than any other he’s seen me to. Is three weeks adequate time for you to create a truly exquisite dress?”

The seamstress sat in consideration, and looked down at her napping swan. She nudged him with her foot, and he rustled his feathers. “What do you think, Claude? Shell we help the princess? I’ve already got several ideas for a beautiful, flattering dress for her highness.” Claude always supported the idea of true love, so he agreed in an instant. “You should make the dress, Deloris!” 

The old woman turned once again to the princess, and gave a short nod. “I will make the dress for you, your highness.”  The two shook hands, and the princess started pulling out her coin purse. The seamstress stopped her. “Don’t you need payment? Here. Please, I do insist.” the Princess urged. The seamstress insisted otherwise. “Your Highness, it’s quite alright. I don’t need any money. As for fabric, I’ve got more than enough here, as you can see. Now, is there anything in particular you wanted to see in the dress?” Rosamond stilled a moment. “Nothing at all. I simply ask you to… make me beautiful.”  Her highness stepped almost out the door when she stopped. She paused. With her hand on the door-trim she turned and requested kindly, “Actually miss. I do know. I would rather like to be brave. Please eschew from me my fear of love!” The seamstress gave a chilly smile. “Beauty it shall have. Fear of _love_ you will have not.”

The princess’s measurements were taken, and she made her leave. The seamstress was grateful for the rather easy and affable transaction of the dress. Deloris got to work straight away. She called for her scissors and Claude waddled over with them. He sat the tool down, and said “Princess Rosamond is very beautiful, would you agree not?” “I would think so,” was the seamstress’s reply. She smiled very subtly to herself. ‘ _Make me beautiful’ were her words,_ she recollected. “ _Fear not of love_ ” articulated the girl.

The seamstress walked over to a dresser filed with patterns, and selected one she found appropriate. _The princess has an alarming sense of trust._ Claude helped her cut the fabric, and align it with the pattern. The bird carried the fabric over to the sewing machine then Deloris took a rest. The next day and the days following, she added on to the dress. In her final week, she pricked her fingers repeatedly with the embroidery. 

On the morning that the princess was to come retrieve the dress, the seamstress took the dress over to the witch to add a final touch. “Princess Rosamond asked me to make her a dress that would have her look ‘truly beautiful’. She wants to greatly impress her lover, Prince Frans.” The witch croaked her reply. 

“Deloris, tell me what you need. I don’t need the extra details.”  The seamstress continued. “Now, I’ve made the dress, but in addition, I’ve also made her corresponding muslin and petticoats to match. This is the favor that I want to ask of you…” The witch summoned her spell-book, but the seamstress cast it off. “You won’t need that. This favor is for the princess.”

“You want me to cast a spell on the muslin and petticoats so that when she wears them, she’ll be ‘truly beautiful’?” the witch asked. The seamstress confirmed, and on the witch’s face a creeping smile lit up her eyes dangerously. “I trust you’ll heed the dear princess’s request?”  The witch nodded slowly, and cast her spell. When it was finished, Deloris took the dress and fit it in a decorative box for the princess to take home to the castle.

The Princess arrived a bright afternoon, again insisting on giving the seamstress payment. “That’s not necessary,” the woman said. The Princess couldn’t resist looking at the dress, and when she lifted the lid of the box, a wide smile reached her eyebrows. “What a beautiful shade of red!” The satin dress wasdyed a smooth red-salmon, accented with flourishing golden embroidery. “I should think it would suit your complexion well,” the seamstress commented. With those words, the Princess made her leave and thanked the old woman for the gratuitous muslin and petticoats.

The old witch happened to see the Princess in her carriage on her way to the castle. As she walked she gave the coach a wilting wave, but he ordered the horses to ride faster in response. The coachmen always get nervous around the witch's woods, the ominous atmosphere challenging even the strongest of wills.. She quite liked it, indeed. It kept intruders, (the weak of constitution,) away.

When the Princess entered the grand hall after her trip, her father the King stiffened his lip and brow. “Where have you gone, Rosa? Again, without telling me? What is it that you hold in your hands?” He still sat on his throne, but beckoned the Princess to approach. 

“Look father,” she said, pulling the dress from the box. “I had a dress made for the ball. Don’t worry, I didn’t pay much for it. _I didn’t pay anything for it,_ ” she muttered. The collar slipped over the edge while the Princess adulated, “Don’t you just love the color, father? And look at the embroidery!” 

The King remained silent, but his face softened. “Very well. You must leave me now, there are still many preparations to be planned for the ball, and the people of Uouu are hard to win over.” “Yes father,” replied the princess. She carried the dress to her dressing room, and bid for her hand-maiden. As she nimbly laced the back, Rosamond glowed. The dress fit her quite well! A bit _too_ well. She could feel the waist pinching her, but not to worry. _She would just make the corset tighter!_ she nodded in the mirror.

The night of the ball came, and when Prince Frans saw Princess Rosamond, he was speechless. The two had to keep their composure in regal company, but both were ardently infatuated. _Only made more evident by her Highness’s frequent eye-sweeping; him, by his rapidly reddening face._ His cheeks’ hue rivaled that of the Princess's dress!

Prince Frans captured Rosamond with his light eyes that contrasted his darker Italian skin. His deep, curly hair swept over his forehead (from whence his fierce blush refused to lower).  His regality was reinforced by the emerald vest he wore under his jacket. Even with all his decorations, grooming and pomp, he was rendered a child playing dress-up in Rosamond’s resplendent company. She glided closer to the Prince with mild difficulty.

_The dress is hugging my waist more than it did last time, I should think_. the Princess fancied. “ _Well no matter. I’ve just eaten. And still, there are ways to solve that_.”

Prince Frans hoarded for himself Princess Rosamond’s every dance. As the night drew on, the Princess asked to sit. “What’s wrong, dear Rosamond?” the Prince beseeched.  “I just feel a bit…fatigued. But I’m quite alright, just let me have a moment.” the Princess said. She breathed deeply to settle her stomach. _Surly I haven’t eaten that much_ , she fretted. The Prince then invited her for a garden stroll to clear their heads. Rosamond breathlessly agreed.

As the two walked the Royal Gardens, Prince Frans showered Rosamond with praises of her beauty, intellect and generosity. The Princess tired her hardest to listen closely, but the dress was squeezing her bust, waist, ribcage and arms. Every other word processed to her. Her lucidity wavered. Her balance vacillated. Frans grasped her elbow with anxious hands. 

She excused herself awkwardly. She paced as quickly as she could back to the ballroom. Each breath she took rattled more with each step. The compression was too much, too much. _I must have been a_ ** _glutton_** _this evening!_ She pardoned her way through the crowd. Everything above her hips shrunk ever tighter. Rosamond was loathe to think what would be of her vision  after the blurring. Black spotting? 

Hastily, sweating, panting her Highness threw upon a privy door. She tried making herself sick, but she couldn’t find it in her. Her fore and middle finger resisted reaching any farther than her teeth. The Prince had followed her out of the gardens, and begged forgiveness of his rush through the dancers.

The Princess sat crying softly to herself, sweating coldly. She tired once more to make herself sick, curled miserably in a corner. The dress wouldn’t let her move her arms, catch a breath, or shift at all. The Prince was too late. All of the Princess’s fears were succumbed to in the dark, lonely privy. 

In the broken hut did the old seamstress knit, petting Claude every once in a while. The old woman herself entertained flights of fancy for the night’s proceedings. Abruptly she stopped betting the bird’s head.“Do you think she would look beautiful now, my swan?” 

“What do you mean?” was Claude’s innocent reply. 

Tepidly her smile curved. “The dress for the Princess’s lover. I think she’s leaving him speechless, now.” the seamstress said with a smirk on her face. “By her beauty? Her commission was redundant. She could have reached that effect without the dress, don’t you find?” He waddled a few steps away to scratch his head.

“No, Claude. Her beauty was natural, indeed. Her comeliness rivals mine in my youth.” Claude laughs effervescently. “Now you hush. Don’t you recall? The gentle Princess’s request was two-fold. I had no need to enchant a request so subjective as ‘beauty’ with the witch. No, no. Rosamond’s _second_ task was far trickier to uphold.”

“Her fear of love, was it not?” says the swan, fumbling to rest in Deloris’ lap. “Her fear of love, indeed. Love, quite. Fears are so arbitrary in their absolution I often find. Yes, fears are tricky.” _Was her beauty worth the price of her fear of love?_

The old seamstress made quite sure the Princess's fears were wholly abjured in their _completion_.

 

The End


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